Clown Crown, the second half of Rube Barb

[Truerenigma]

This is the second half of Rube Barb, called Clown Crown. The whole piece is dedicated to Patch Adams, and I plan to hand-write it and mail it to him after I incorporate y'all's feedback. Maybe it informs the first half, maybe . . .

Clown Crown

And I hear . . .

You must really be a clown,
To shout love amidst the battle,
A tragedian
Grieving uncynically for the vulnerable belief,
Weaving
Scenes of soldierly transcendence,
Acting them out on wings of leaves.
You duck the razor and stand solemnly so you can breath the night air,
Train your gaze to the horizon where the sun sets while the sword bears
down . . .
You must really be a clown.
And in the end, left to die among the crowd, you ape about in a shroud,
Begging the clouds to s i n g with you, and not to lift you out?!
Sammy Davis saying "what's that sound" to the angel, like a member of the gallery,
And not "death be not proud" to the stranger who came over to take you out?
Hallelujah to the night with no nod to the ground?
You must really be a clown.
Trapped in a box? Locked up in a body?
Fearless? So in love with beauty that death
Is a myth and meaningless
And its sway
Laughable?
You must really be a clown
To think that belief
Is
Even remotely
passable.

---

Milo, trueenigma, thanks so much. I'll fix this one and Entropy before I post any new work. Y'all are great!

and I plan to hand-write it and mail it to him

That's not creepy at all. Honestly, it's a mess. But if it's just to be mailed to patch adams I'm sure it will be fine for him, and hardly requires serious workshopping.

I'm struggling to find the driving force, or logic, that guides you in your line breaks. Would you forgive me if I used such impoverished language as "formless blob" to describe it? I can't read it like this, maybe later if I'm feeling especially generous--but just looking at it right now makes me want to cry.

Why not play around in practice for a bit? I've been working on sonnet form now for the past few months just to refresh and hone skills to prepare myself to revise a single poem I started months ago (and so far it has been surprisingly gratifying, and productive, journey). I know you probably have a bunch of stuff laying around, but there's no rush. Sharpen your skills. Hang out. Practice, have fun. milo and I both stop in from time to time to help out, as well others. While you're at it, basks in the daunting brilliance that is Leanne's poetry hanging all around this place like treasures just waiting to be dug up. This serious workshopping is grinding and laborious stuff when it's done right.